Top Gear 3025
by JA Baker
Summary: Tonight, on a very special Top Gear: James gets a little agitated, Richard goes very fast, and I get a little hot under the collar. All that and more, tonight, on Top Gear!


It's all owned by someone else.

People with a lot more money than I have.

**Top Gear 3025**

_Theme "Jessica" by Allman Brothers Band plays._

**Clarkson (VO):** Tonight, on a very special Top Gear, James gets a little agitated...

_May is shown punching buttons, seemingly at random._

**May:** WHERE ARE THE _#BEEPING#_ JUMP JETS?

**Clarkson (VO):** Richard goes very fast...

_Hammond is shown being shaking up and down violently_

**Hammond:** How do you steer this thing?

**Clarkson (VO):** And I get a little hot under the collar...

_Clarkson is shown, stripped down to a vest and shorts, sweat poring off his body_

**Clarkson:** I will admit, it is a _tad_ warm in here right now...

**Clarkson (VO):** All that and more, tonight, on _Top Gear!_

_Cut to the presenters looking out over a crater-pocked landscape, parts of which are still on fire._

**Hammond:** It could have gone a _little_ better...

_Theme ends._

_Fade to interior of Top Gear studio. Clarkson is standing on the news stage._

**Clarkson:** Hello, and welcome to the 31st Century!

_Audience applauds._

**Clarkson:** Yes, we have reached a point in human history where, finally, Porche have finale released a version of the 911 that is truly different to its predecessor.

_Audience laughs_

**Hammond (off camera):** I heard that!

**Clarkson:** You were supposed to. _(beat)_ Anyway, the BBC has sent us here, at great expense, to test out the future of weapons technology; the _BattleMech_!

_Cut to a silhouette of a number of vaguely humanoid shapes, surrounded by a swirly cloud of smoke, as _O Fortuna_ from _Carmina Burana_, by Carl Orff plays._

**Clarkson (VO): **First deployed by the Terran Hegemony in 2443, the BattleMech has remained the undisputed king of the battlefield ever since. Standing between 30 and 40 feet in hight, massing from 20 to 100 tons, these futuristic knights in shinning armour have enough fire-power to demolish entire cities. And someone thought it would be a good idea for us to play with them.

_Cut to a close up of Clarkson, grinning like an idiot._

**Clarkson (CO):** We were each given 10-million C-Bills, and told to report to a proving ground on the planet Galatea, where we'd be set a series of challenges...

_Cut to Hammond, standing on an expanse of ferrocrete._

**Hammond:** As you can see, I'm the first to arrive, and that's because I played it smart and picked this.

_Camera pans back to show a squat, hunched over BattleMech._

**Hammond:** This is the Skobel MechWorks MCY-98 _Mercury_, one of the fastest BattleMechs of its time, with a top speed of just over 80 miles an hour, which isn't bad for something that tips the scales at 20-tons.

_Cut to various close-ups and panning shots of the Mech._

**Hammond (VO):** Built for the discerning Star League Defence Force, the _Mercury_ is a dedicated scout that still manages to carry two medium and two small lasers, all wrapped up inside 4-tons of armour. It was also the first Mech _ever_ to use modular components, drastically cutting into repair and maintenance times, something that wouldn't be seen again for hundreds of years.

_Cut to a close up of Hammond._

**Hammond:** It is, in many ways, the _Porch 911_ of its time; fast, agile, and beautiful to look at.

**Clarkson (VO):** Fortunately for all concerned, I arrived before Hammond could start humping his Mech's leg, and I had chosen something a little more practical.

_Cut to Hammond, eyes wide in shock._

**Hammond:** Oh my god, he didn't, did he?

_Cut to a much larger, more humanoid BattleMech lumbering across the tarmac, massive shoulders swaying back and forth._

**Hammond (off-camera):** I honestly thought he was going to pick the _Atlas_...

**Clarkson (VO): **This, ladies and gentleman, is the CGR-1A1 _Charger_ from Wells Technologies; 80-tons of Death & Destruction. And it's all mine!

_Cut to inside of cockpit, where Clarkson is humming The Ride of the Valkyries._

**Clarkson (VO):** Despite the fact that it weights four times as much as Hammond's puny little _Mercury_, the _Charger_ is still capable of reaching over 50 miles an hour, which is rather impressive for something with the shoulders from one of Joan Collins' power-suits.

_Cut to the foot of the_ Charger, _where Hammond is watching Clarkson try and descend a rope-ladder._

**Hammond:** You utter tit, why do you always make such stupid choices?

**Clarkson:** What's stupid about it?

**Hammond:** It's a _joke_! No one takes the _Charger_ seriously. It's an 80-ton clown armed with pop-guns!

**Clarkson:** It has five lasers...

**Hammond:** Five small lasers, as in "not very powerful".

**Clarkson:** Yes, but five of them, together...

**Hammond:** Is still utterly useless!

**Clarkson:** Okay, how about we get back into out Mech's, and have have a boxing match. I'll even let you have the first hit.

**Hammond:** They're not designed for boxing; they're designed for shooting at each other!

**May (VO):** Fortunately, I arrived before they actually came to blows.

_Cut to a shot of Clarkson and Hammond looking around in surprise._

**Clarkson:** Can you hear a jet engine?

_Cut to a wide shot of a futuristic looking jet-fighter passing low over the proving ground, banking hard, as The Dambusters March plays._

_Cut to the cockpit, where May is dressed in a vintage leather flying jacket._

**May:** Chocks way, boys!

_Cut to footage of the fighter being put through a series of acrobatic manoeuvres._

**May (VO):** This time, I managed to find a true gem; a rare working example of the Allied Aerospace PHX-HK2 _Phoenix Hawk_ LAM, a truly remarkable machine by anyone's standards.

_Cut to a close up of Clarkson._

**Clarkson:** That blithering idiot!

**May (VO):** Well, anyone that matters, that is.

_Cut to a wide shot of the fighter coming in to land._

**Hammond:** He hasn't lowered the undercarriage. This is going to end badly...

_The fighter suddenly changes shape, arms and legs folding out of the fuselage, jets in its feet allowing it to come to a controlled stop, before gently setting down. It then continues to unfolds until it has taken on a much more human-like appearance._

**Clarkson:** That's cheating!

_Cut to a shot of May walking up to the others._

**May:** So, chaps, what you think?

**Clarkson:** Where the _#beep#_ did you get a Land-Air 'Mech from?

**May:** Ah, there's an interesting story there...

**Hammond:** Oh god, here we go again...

**May:** It turns out that the Precentor Martial of the Com Guards is a direct descendant of Oz Clarke, and felt like doing me a little favour.

**Clarkson:** Are you telling me that Anastasius Focht is related, by blood, to Oz Clarke?

**May:** Yep.

**Clarkson (VO):** Normally, a bombshell like that would be a cue to end the show, but a man in a white coat arrived with our first challenge...

_Cut to Hammond holding a envelope while Clarkson and May stand either side of him._

**Hammond:** "Your first challenge is to see just how fast your Mech's can make it around our specially constructed obstacle course."

_Cut to Clarkson._

**Clarkson:** Normally, for something like this, we'd turn our rides over to our tame racing driver, but he took a wrong turn in the space-time continuum, and ended up somewhere else...

_Cut to The Stig, trident in hand, circling a man dressed in a ripped golden shirt, in a futuristic gladiatorial arena._

_Cut back to Clarkson._

**Clarkson:** So instead we had to find a replacement.

_Cut to a different camera angle._

**Clarkson:** Some say that he once successfully impersonated the First Prince of the Federated Suns, and that his bones are made of pure germanium. All we know is he's _not_ The Stig, but he _is_ The Stig's MechWarrior cousin!

_Cut to a tall figure in a full body coolant suit, complete with visored helmet and gloves. A huge fireball erupts behind him._

_Cut to the presenters, all looking a little taken aback._

**Hammond:** This should be interesting.

_Cut to the_ Mercury_, standing at the top of a small sand-dune._

**Hammond (VO):** As mine was the fastest...

**May (VO):** Only on the ground!

**Clarkson (VO):** Shut up, you cheater.

**Hammond (VO):** As I was saying; as my 'Mech was the fastest, Mech-Stig chose it to start with.

_Cut to a light changing from red to green, and the_ Mercury _setting off. It seems slow at fast, it's feet finding it hard to get traction in the loose sand._

_Cut to Clarkson, a worried expression on his face._

**Clarkson:** Oh god, if that dinky-toy is having trouble getting off the line, what are our 'Mech's going to be like?

**May:** That _is_ a concern.

_Cut to the_ Mercury, _now moving much faster, as it passes through a small stand of tress, pushing the smaller ones aside, but having trouble with the larger ones._

_Cut to the presenters._

**May:** You see, this is where having a bigger 'Mech will pay off; my _Phoenix Hawk_ will just brush them aside like saplings.

**Clarkson:** And my Charger will stomp all over 'em, which will give the echo-mentalists yet _another_ reason to hate us.

_Cut to the_ Mercury_, which has cleared the trees and entered a mock-up town. It effortlessly side-steps parked cars and even a school bus._

_Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig is listening to the main theme from the original series of_ Battlestar Galactica.

**Clarkson (VO):** Mech-Stig there, getting a little bit confused, I fear.

_Cut to the_ Mercury _exiting the fake town and approaching a small river._

**Clarkson (VO):** This could be tricky here; small Mech with no jump-jets in a fast-flowing river...

_Cut to Hammond, a worried expression on his face._

_Cut back to the_ Mercury_, which is wadding out into the water, only to be pushed down stream towards some rocks._

_Cut to the presenters. Hammond has his back turned._

**Hammond:** I can't watch!

_Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig is fighting hard against the controls._

_Cut to the_ Mercury_, fighting its way up the far bank and out of the river._

_Cut to the presenters._

**Clarkson:** Well, that was disappointing...

_Cut back to the_ Mercury_, which has entered the final part of the obstacle course; a firing range._

**Clarkson (VO):** To finish, all Mech-Stig has to do is take out three targets as quickly as possible.

_Cut to the_ Mercury_, its arms snapping up in line with a pop-up wooden silhouette of a tank. Emerald beams of light lash out, vaporising the sap still inside the wood and making the target explode. A second target, this time a_ Panther_, pops up to the far right._

_Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig snaps one of the joysticks hard over._

_Cut to the_ Mercury_, opens fire with all of its lasers, heat now visibly rising from its broad back. The target falls apart under barrage. The final target, this time a VTOL on a pulley system, starts to make its way across the far end of the firing range. The_ Mercury _opens fire, its first few shots missing wide, but Mech-Stig walks the laser bolts onto the target and obliterates it._

_Cut to the presenters. Hammond is jumping up and down excitedly._

**Hammond:** Ha! Let's see your lumbering hulks do better than that!

_Cut to the_ Phoenix Hawk_, standing atop the sand dune._

_Cut to the cockpit, Mech-Stig relaxing to the _Battle of Britain_ March._

**Clarkson (VO):** Nope, he's still not getting it right...

_Cut back to the_ Phoenix Hawk_. The light goes green, and it takes off down the embankment, the feet sinking deeper into the sand and finding more traction this time._

_Cut to the presenters. Hammond looks confused._

**Hammond:** How's that work?

**May:** Ah, you see, with more than twice the mass of your Mercury, my _Phoenix Hawk_ compacts the sand beneath its feet, creating a more stable surface upon which to...

**Clarkson & Hammond:** Shut up, James.

_Cut back to the_ Phoenix Hawk_, which has reached the trees._

**Clarkson (VO):** Now we'd see just how well Captain Slow's Transformer handled the first obstacle...

_Smoke and flame erupt from the back of the_ Phoenix Hawk _as Mech-Stig uses its jump-jets to avoid the trees totally._

**Clarkson (VO):** ...like a cheating bastard, it would seem.

_The_ Phoenix Hawk _entered the town, avoiding the cars with ease, but clipping the side of the bus, knocking it over onto its side._

_Cut to the presenters._

**Hammond:** You're going to lose points for that!

_Cut back to the_ Phoenix Hawk_, which has reached the river, and yet again uses its jump-jets to simply ignore the obstacle, landing on the far back with all the grace you can expect from something that weighs 50-tons._

_Cut to the presenters._

**Hammond:** I'm starting to see where jump-jets might have been a good idea.

**May:** I did try telling you that back in the 21st Century.

**Clarkson:** The annoying thing is, he did.

_The_ Phoenix Hawk _enters the firing-range without slowing down. A different tank pops up, but rather than shooting it, Mech-Stig ignites the jump-jets and performs a perfect Death From Above attack._

_Cut to the presenters._

**Clarkson:** I knew I should have splashed out on the _Highlander_ I saw in that second-hand Mech yard on Northwind...

_Cut to the firing-range, where a wooden_ Centurion _pops-up, only to take a large laser to the head. A second tank then appears, only to be racked by machine-gun fire and medium lasers._

_Cut to the presenters. May looks rather happy._

**May:** I think that went rather well.

**Clarkson:** Don't get too excited, boy-o, because my _Charger_ is up next!

_Cut to the start line, where the_ Charger _has sunk ankle-deep in the sand. The light turns from red to green, and it lumbers off, its feet dragging slightly._

**Clarkson (VO):** Despite being 30-tons heavier, the _Charger_ has the same top speed as the _Phoenix Hawk_, and all that extra weight mean the trees should prove no trouble what so ever.

_The_ Charger _reaches the trees and doesn't even try to slow down as it barrels into them, snapped branches and splintered trunks falling left and right._

_Cut to the presenters. Clarkson is punching the air._

**Clarkson:** Oh yes! Who's your daddy?

_Cut to the cockpit, where Mech-Stig is listening to_ _the_ Imperial March _from_ Star Wars.

**Clarkson (VO):** Okay, now he's not even trying...

_The_ Charger _reaches the town and lives up to its name as it barges along main street, flattening several cars and crumpling the bus, leaving total destruction in its wake. It carries on until it reaches the river, and only here does Mech-Stig slow down, but still strides confidently into the water. Water buffets against the_ Charger, _but it seems totally unaffected, and emerges from the other side almost directly opposite where it entered._

_Cut to the presenters._

**Clarkson:** And that, gentlemen, is why you always pick an Assault Mech.

_The first target in the firing-range is a_ Commando, _but rather than fire any of the_ Chargers _lasers, Mech-Stig simply punches it, crumpling the wood to kindling. The second target, this time a pill-box, appeared directly in the_ Charger's _path, and is stopped on without even braking stride. The final target is again a VTOL, forcing Mech-Stig to fire the lasers, but evidently his previous goes have improved his aim, and he catches it right in the middle with all five beams of bright blue light, incinerating it._

_Cut to the presenters. Hammond and May are standing, mouths agape, while Clarkson is doubled over, laughing almost uncontrollably._

**Clarkson:** What did you say about a clown with a pop-gun?

**Hammond:** Shut up...

_A man in a slightly more ornate white coat turns up and hands them an envelope._

**May (VO):** Thankfully, we were quickly handed our next challenge.

**Clarkson:** "You will now test your 'Mech's ride and reliability by taking them to a service bay outside of Galatean City. Please get there as quickly as possible."

**May:** Nice ride through the country? How hard can it...

**Clarkson & Hammond:** DON'T SAY IT!

_Cut to Hammond, sitting inside his_ Mercury's _cockpit._

**Hammond:** Okay, let's fire up the SatNav and see what it says...oh, that's not good.

_Picks up radio._

**Hammond:** Guys, you want the good news, or the bad news?

**Clarkson (on radio):** What's the bad news?

**Hammond:** Galatean City is over 500-km away, on the other side of a swamp.

**May (over radio):** Okay, so what's the good news?

**Hammond:** There isn't any. I lied.

_Cut to a series of panning shots showing a seemingly endless expanse of jungle like trees intermixed with large rivers and lakes._

**Clarkson (VO):** Richard wasn't joking about it being bad news; we were about to enter an area known locally as simply The Bayou. It stretches for over two thousand miles along the coastline, separating the peninsular we were on from the planetary capital. It is a hot, humid hell-hole the likes of which you simply can not imagine. There are almost zero inhabitants, and the few roads there are are little more than dirt tracks, certainly not enough to support a BattleMech. Crossing it would take skill, intelligence and teamwork. Not exactly things we're known for at the best of times. And, in the best traditions of these challenges, the producers had arranged a backup, should any of our 'Mech's fail to make it.

_Cut to the presenters, looks of absolute horror and dismay on their faces._

**Hammond:** Please tell me that's not what I think it is?

**Clarkson:** Unfortunately I think it is.

**May:** Oh bloody 'ell!

_Cut to a forth BattleMech, this one painted a bright cannery yellow._ O Fortuna _plays again._

**Clarkson (VO):** This is, in case you didn't recognise it, the UM-R60 _UrbanMech_, perhaps the single most despised BattleMech ever created.

_Cut to panning shots and close-ups of the_ UrbanMech _as the music continues._

**Clarkson (VO):** Despite weighing in at only 30-tons, it can barely reach 20 miles an hour, flat out. What's more, as it lacks proper arms, if it falls over, as it is likely to do in the swamps we would be facing, it would be almost impossible to self-right.

_Cut back to the presenters._

**Hammond:** Okay, there is no way any of us want to end up in that thing, so let's agree that this is a team exercise.

**Clarkson:** I think, for once, that we can all be in agreement with you on that.

**May:** Hang on, if there are no roads, and even Mech's find this swamp difficult, how are the film crew going to follow us? Because I don't see any helicopters.

**Clarkson:** That's because there aren't any. Instead they will by using a pair of Toyota _Hilux's_.

**Hammond & May:** _WHAT_?

_Cut to a pair of slightly modified pick-up trucks._

**Clarkson (VO):** It's true; it may have been around for over a thousand years, but it seems that, try as they mite, no one has been able to improve upon the dependable old _Hilux._ Yes, the latest model may have a 3-litre ceramic diesel that can run on pretty much anything combustible, and yes, some of the materials used in their construction are a little more advanced, but the basic design remains unchanged. It's certainly a much more impressive piece of hardware than the _UrbanMech_.

_Cut back to the presenters._

**Clarkson:** Okay, so Hammond, you go first, then Captain Slow and I will follow on.

**Hammond:** Hang on, why doesn't James just fly ahead and find a rout?

_May mumbles incomprehensibly_.

**Clarkson:** I know I'm getting on a bit, but my hearing isn't _that_ bad. Do you mind repeating yourself.

**May:** Between my acrobatics earlier, and Mech-Stig playing around on the assault course, we've used up most of my jet-fuel. And as there isn't any around here to top-up the tanks, I'm limited to a few short hops with the jump-jets.

**Hammond:** James, you utter tit!

**Clarkson:** What is the point of having a Land-Air 'Mech when you can't use the 'Air' part?

**Hammond:** Says the man who's Assault Mech is out-gunned by my Scout...

**Clarkson:** Shut up!

**May:** This is going to be a fun couple of days...

_Cut to a high angel shot of the edge of the testing ground, not far from the start of the swamp. The_ Mercury, Phoenix Hawk _and_ Charger _are all lined up, the_ UrbanMech _slightly further behind._

**Clarkson (VO):** And so the next day, after a hearty breakfast, we prepared to set out.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury_; Hammond is playing with the tilt controls on his command couch._

**Hammond:** Chair goes up, chair goes down. Chair goes up, chair goes down...

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk_; May is running through a full set of system checks._

**May:** Reactor, on-line. Sensors, on-line. Weapons, on-line. Communications, on-line. Environmental controls, on-line. All systems nominal.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Charger_; Clarkson has fallen asleep with his neurohelmet over his eyes._

**Clarkson:** ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

_The radio squawks, waking him with a jump._

**Hammond (on radio):** I just had a thought; we should have call-signs, like real MechWarriors do.

**May (on radio):** Well, we could go back to calling you 'Brokeback' if you want.

**Hammond (on radio):** Very funny, 'Captain Slow'.

**Clarkson (laughing):** Calm down now, children.

**Hammond (on radio):** Ah, so 'Bonzo' is awake at last.

**Clarkson:** what did you just call me?

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury.

**Hammond:** You're in a 80-ton clown-car, so, ipso facto, you must be a clown.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk_; May is laughing uncontrollably._

**May:** Or we could always call him 'Sleepy'

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Charger_; Clarkson looks confused._

**Clarkson:** I was not asleep!

**Hammond (on radio):** You fell asleep with your hand on the transmit button; we could hear you snoring.

**Clarkson:** Oh, #bleep#

_Cut to a tracking shot of the Mech's stepping off the ferrocrete and into the swamp._

**Clarkson (VO):** With a little prodding from the director, we set out on our journey into the unknown, a trio of hardened, experienced explorers.

**Hammond (on radio):** I don't suppose anyone knows if this thing has windscreen wipers?

_Cut to long shots of the three Mech's struggling to find a way thought the dense foliage._

**Clarkson (VO):** While the trees on the obstacle course may have been little trouble, even the mighty _Charger_ found the going a little tough here in The Bayou, where the trees for an interlocking network of roots and branches that are almost impossible to breach. Unusually, it was James who came up with the solution...

_Cut to a close up of a tree, which suddenly explodes, revealing the_ Phoenix Hawk _standing behind it, the baral of its pistol-like large laser smoking._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk.

**May:** Take that, you bastard!

**Clarkson (VO):** This could lead to only one possible outcome...

_Cut to a wide-shot: all three 'Mech's are blasting away at the trees with wild abandon._

**Hammond (on radio):** THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE!

**Clarkson (on radio):** I have finally found a method of gardening I actually enjoy.

**Clarkson (VO):** My good mood was not to last long.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Charger; _Clarkson has stripped down to a vest and shorts, and sweat is poring off his body._

**Clarkson:** Okay, I should point out at this time that BattleMech's are powered by self-contained fusion engines, as there simply isn't anything else capable of producing the amount of raw power needed to move something so big, let alone power the various weapons systems. And before anyone writes in to _Points of View_, I can assure you that they are all perfectly safe, tried and tested designs. They do, however, produce an _awful_ lot of heat as a by-product, and that has to be dealt with. Normally, that would be done by a number of massive heat-extractors built into the engine. But unfortunately the swamp is rather warm and humid, which means that they're working at less than optimal capacity. Firing all the lasers like that has _not_ helped. I will admit, it is a _tad_ warm in here right now...

_Cut to a wide shot, where all four 'Mech's are covered in a heat-haze, moving sluggishly as their heat-sinks struggle to cope._

**Clarkson (VO):** We were genuinely worried that we might have to all try and fit inside the _UrbanMech_, when we suddenly had a stroke of good luck...

_Cut to the_ Mercury, _which is standing between two trees._

**Hammond (on radio):** Guys, I think I've found a short-cut.

_Cut to a long shot of a rough dirt track, parts of which are overgrown with immature trees and shrubs._

**Clarkson (VO):** It was a logging road cut into the swamp years before and then abandoned. Fortunately for us, it was still passable, and led in roughly the right direction.

_Cut to a tracking shot of all three Mech's marching down the road, Hammond's_ Mercury _in front._

**Hammond (VO):** It was at this point, we got some _very_ bad news.

**Clarkson (on radio):** Guys, my 'Mech's got an I-Pod dock!

_Cut to a near identical tracking shot, only now_ Land of Confusion _by_ Genesis _is blaring out from the_ Charger.

**Hammond (VO):** And so our trek into the heart of darkness continued...

_Cut to a series of shots showing the Mech's marching down the road, inter-cut with shots of the presenters in the cockpits, looking increasingly board as time passes. Finally settling on Clarkson in the _Charger_._

**Clarkson:** BattleMech's do not have cruise control or auto-pilot, forcing us to remain vigilant at all times. That's seriously tiring, as they're partly controlled through these helmets you see us all wearing, which basically pick up the pilots sense of balance and feed it through to the gyroscope that actively keeps it from falling over. Any loss of concentration, and you can end up face-first in the mud.

**Clarkson (VO):** It's no small wonder then that we called it a day with over an hour of sunlight left.

_Cut to a shot of the three 'Mech's lined up at the side of the road, the sun only just starting to set over the swamp. Tents have been set up at the foot of each 'Mech, with a small fire outside the middle one._

**May:** That was bloody hard work.

**Hammond:** I have not felt this worn out in a very long time.

**Clarkson:** And today was an easy day; what happens when we have to leave the road?

_The other two look thoughtful for a moment, then glair at him._

**Hammond:** That's for that wonderful mental image; you really know how to kill the mood.

**May:** Yeah, thanks a lot Jeremy.

**Clarkson:** I do apologise, and I hope this'll make it up to you.

_Clarkson reaches into his tent and pulls out a plastic cooler chest, which he opens to reveal a number of pyramid-shaped cans, one of which he throws to each of his companions._

**Clarkson:** Behold, I bring you the gift of beer!

**Hammond:** BEER!

**May:** The cause of, and answer to, all of life's little problems.

_The open the cans and proceed to drink the contents._

**Hammond:** Not bad stuff. Think we'll be allowed to take any home with us?

_Cut to a stunning shot of sunrise over the swamp, the sky turning from turquoise to powder-blue as the blazing, bright yellow run appears._

_Cut to the inside of one of the tents, where Clarkson is slowly waking up, rubbing his eyes and looking around in some confusion._

**Clarkson:** I hate planets with shorter nights.

_Cut to the camp-site; all three presenters are up, hung-over and less than happy about what the day has in store for them._

**Hammond:** I found this track on the SatNav; it goes strait on for another hundred miles or so, then veers off towards a river, which is probably how they got the wood out.

_Clarkson pulls out a map and spreads it on the ground before them._

**Clarkson:** It must be this river here. Looks like if we were to follow it upstream a little, we'd be able to get within a couple of miles of this highway that leads directly to Galatean City.

**May:** Well, we know the 'Mech's are all water-tight, so getting across the river shouldn't be that hard.

**Hammond:** And again he tempts fate!

**Clarkson:** You have to wonder if he's ever been on one of these little jaunts before?

**May:** Oh for gods sake, can't we just get on with it?

_Cut to tracking shot of the_ Charger _and_ Phoenix Hawk _marching down the road together._

**Clarkson (VO):** And so get on with it we did. While Hamster went ahead in his _Mercury_ GTI, Captain Slow and I followed on behind. Unfortunately, some time during the night, someone had caught up with us...

_Camera pans back to show the_ UrbanMech _following behind._

_Cut to the_ UrbanMech's _cockpit: 'Mech-Stig is listening to_ The Archers.

**Clarkson (VO):** I'm not sure what was worse; our mood upon seeing the bight-yellow bastard, our 'Mech-Stig's choice in listening material.

_Cut to the_ Mercury, _which is making its way down the track at a much faster pace._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury.

**Hammond:** While the other two plod along like the pair of middle aged old farts they are, I am seeing just how well the _Mercury_ can handle rough terrain. Now she's not going to get anywhere near her top-speed, what with roots and potholes to look out for, but I can ease the throttle open just a little bit...

_He pushes a lever forward slowly, but it suddenly jerks forwards and sticks._

**Hammond:** Oh, that's not good!

_Cut to a tracking shot: the_ Mercury _is now running at near top speed. One foot catches on a fallen tree and it trips, arms flailing, before it hits the ground with a loud bang._

_Cut to the cockpit: Hammond has been thrown against the harness, and blood is seeping for a cut lip._

**Hammond:** Owch! Okay, that _#beep#_ing hurt.

_He looks at the controls._

**Hammond:** Okay, don't look like there's been any real damage, aside from to my pride. Except there.

_Cut to close-up of one of the screens; it shows a wire-grid outline of the_ Mercury. _It's green, aside from the the right ankle, which is flashing yellow._

_Cut back to Hammond._

**Hammond:** That might be a problem; that's the ankle actuator, and its reporting some structural damage. Which might be a problem if I try for full-speed again. Or put too much weight on it by, say, trying to stand up after a fall.

_He puts his hands into a pair of gloves, and activates a control._

**Hammond:** Let's hope it holds.

_Cut to an exterior shot. The_ Mercury's _arms flex and move until they push it up into a kneeling position, then the left leg moved forward._

**Hammond (VO):** Now the really hard part; keeping the 'Mech balanced while I get it back on its feet. Not something we covered in much detail during our two days of basic piloting school.

**Clarkson (VO):** Fortunately for Brokeback, help arrived.

_The_ Charger _and_ Phoenix Hawk _arrive._

**Clarkson (on radio):** Enjoy your trip?

**Hammond (on radio):** #beep# off, Jeremy.

**May (on radio):** In all seriousness mate, do you want a hand?

**Hammond (on radio):** ...Yes.

**Clarkson (on radio):** Okay, James, you go round to his left side, and I'll take the right. We'll have him up in a jiffy. And remember; none of us want to end up having to keep place with the metal slug back there.

_Camera pans back to she the_ UrbanMech _slowly but surely catching up with them._

_Somewhat clumsily, the_ Charger _and_ Phoenix Hawk _take hold of the _Mercury _by the upper arms and half-pull, half drag it into a standing position. This takes time, with several loud clangs and a lot of bleeped-out swearing over the radio, but eventual the _Mercury _is righted._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury, _where Hammond is double checking the readouts._

**Hammond:** Okay guys, looks like she's still in one piece. Thanks for that.

**Clarkson (on radio):** No problem, Hamster.

**May (on radio):** Anything but having to put up with that bloody _UrbanMech._

_Cut to a shot of the road; all three presenters have exited their 'Mech's, and Hammond is being checked over by the film-crews doctor._

**Doctor:** There's no sign of a concussion; just some cuts and bruises, but take it easy and call me if you start to feel sick, dizzy or faint.

**Hammond:** Okay.

**Clarkson:** Well, that was a little less impressive than your _last_ high-speed crash. Says a lot about 31st Century safety features.

**May:** _Vorsprung durch Technik_, as they say in the Lyran Commonwealth.

**Clarkson:** With all seriousness now, no more show-boating by any of us; the last thing we want is to be stuck waiting for Big-Bird back there.

_The camera pans around to show the_ UrbanMech_, standing over them menacingly._

_Cut to tracking shot of the three 'Mech's continuing down the track together._

**Clarkson (VO):** With Hammond back on his feet, we set out again, all be it a little slower. Unfortunately, the damage to the _Mercury's_ ankle was the least of our problems.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Charger.

**Clarkson:** This 'Mech is close to six-hundred years old, and it is a testament to the shear _Brunellian_ build quality of the time that it's still working. That said, there are one or two _little_ problems.

_He takes a deep breath._

**Clarkson:** The hip-actuators are out of sink, the shock absorbers in the right knee are shot, according to my main display here two of the heat-sinks are operating at less than 70% capacity, every so often there is an odd grinding sound from the left should that I'm pretty sure is strands of Myomer cable, the artificial muscles that allow a Mech to move, being ground away and snapping. And to top that all off, the command couch smells like an old sweat-sock.

_He looks at the camera and smiles._

**Clarkson:** Still, no worse than the last used-car I bought...

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury: _Hammond looks miserable._

**Hammond:** When I first got this 'Mech, there was a slight hint of static around the edge of the main view screen, which I could live with. But that little fall must have knocked something loose, as I'm now getting the occasional white line, and some wired, high-pitched humming noise that's setting my teeth on edge.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk: _May looks surprisingly happy._

**May:** By now the other two will be discovering that three centuries of near constant war will void the warranty on even in the most dependable of machines. My ride, however, is not some scrap-yard clunker patched together from the salvaged parts of a dozen other, less fortunate 'Mech's. No, this _Phoenix Hawk_ is pretty much factory-fresh; it even has that new-'Mech smell of industrial lubricants and pine. And yes, I know that I didn't buy it _as such_, but it just goes to prove that there are still some good 'Mech's out there, if you know the right people.

_Cut to a series of shots showing the 'Mech's moving along the track._

**Clarkson (VO):** The hours seemed to drag by, not helped by the seemingly unchanging scenery; mile after mile of rugged jungle, with nothing but the odd fallen tree to break the monotony. It was proper hard work to keep on track and not zone-out, hypnotised by the endless sea of green that surrounded us on all sides. Then, just as we were about to call it quits for the night, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

**Hammond (on radio):** Water! I see the river!

**May (on radio):** About bloody time!

**Clarkson (on radio):** Oh thank god for that.

_The three 'Mech's come to a halt beside a small, prefabricated hut next to a dilapidate dock. A small crane juts out over the seemingly unmoving river. The presenters dismount, looking relived._

**May:** You know, it's not a bad view from here.

**Clarkson:** You're only saying that because it's something other than trees, mud and dust to look at for the first time in two days.

**May:** There is that, I grant you...

**Hammond:** No, no; I'm with James on this one. You've got the jungle on either bank, a tranquil blue river, and one hell of a sunset.

_Cut to show the almost perfectly white sun going down over the river, the last few rays turning it into a sheet of liquid golden fire._

**Clarkson:** Okay, I'll admit it's not bad.

**Clarkson (VO):** Inspirational view or not, it was time to set up camp for the night and get some sleep. For tomorrow, we would tackle the river...

_Cut to a shot of the river at dawn; a light mist is rising up of the surface of the water, while local insects buzz around._ Dueling Banjos _plays in the background._

**Clarkson (VO):** Dawn yet again came all too early, and we faced a conundrum; try and make our way along the river-banks, where the roots of the trees reach out to the water like Satan's own mangrove swamp, or risk the unseen obstacles of the riverbed itself.

_Cut to a close-up of the three presenters._

**May:** I vote we go for the river; this is a time where ignorance is _indeed_ bliss.

**Hammond:** I don't know, mate; I found it hard enough when I could see what was in front of me.

**Clarkson:** You both make good points, and I honestly can't pick between you. So, in the spirit of fairness.

_He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a 1 C-Bill coin._

**Clarkson:** Heads the river, tails the river-bank?

**Hammond:** Sounds fair.

**May:** Okay.

_Clarkson tosses the coin into the air, catches it and slams it down onto his wrist. All three lean in closer for a better look._

**May:** Is that supposed to be the 'Head' or the 'Tail'?

_Cut to a tracking shot of the river, slowly panning back to show the three 'Mech's. The water comes up to the lower chest of the_ Charger, _shoulder hight on the_ Phoenix Hawk, _while the_ Mercury _is almost completely submerged._

**Hammond (on radio):** I am _not_ enjoying this one bit.

**Clarkson (VO):** Thankfully all three 'Mech's were water-tight, meaning that we at least remained dry. Unfortunately, they weren't exactly hydrodynamic, slowing us down considerably, which unfortunately led to the arrival of an uninvited guest...

_Cut to a shot over the_ Charger's _right shoulder; there is a faint wake on the surface of the water, but there is no sign of what's causing it. The theme from _Jaws _starts to play as the wake grows bigger, until eventually the curved head of the_ UrbanMech _breaks the surface, it's much more rounded design allowing it to cut through the water with ease._

**Clarkson (VO):** Despite all our best efforts to lose it, it remained doggedly on our tail.

_Cut to a different shot of the three 'Mech's: the_ Phoenix Hawk _in in front, while the_ Charger _is moving into deeper water in an attempt to overtake the_ Mercury.

**Clarkson (on radio):** OH _#BLEEP#_!

_The_ Charger _suddenly vanishes from view, leaving only a large ripple and a couple of small bubbles._

**Hammond (on radio):** Jeremy?

**May (on radio):** What's going on?

**Hammond (on radio):** He just sort of vanished.

**Clarkson (on radio):** I'm okay!

_The_ Charger's _right hand emerges from the water._

**Hammond (on radio):** What happened?

**Clarkson (on radio):** There's a very sudden drop off here; it's only a couple of foot, but it's almost vertical.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Charger_: Clarkson is illuminated solely by the instrument lights._

**Clarkson:** No apparent damage, but I can't see a thing down here.

**May (on radio):** Try backing up... slowly!

**Clarkson:** Okay.

_He slowly pulls the throttle lever backwards, the entire 'Mech shaking as its feet struggle to find traction in the soft mud._

**Clarkson:** Not happening; can't get a good footing.

**May (on radio):** Bugger. Okay, try making your way across the river and up the other side.

**Clarkson:** I was worried you'd say that...

**Clarkson (VO):** James was right; with no way of going backwards, my only option was to press on and hope the other side of the river was passable.

_Cut to a shot of the_ Charger's _hand slicing through the water like a sharks fin._

**Hammond (on radio):** Left a little bit... little bit more. Okay, straiten her up. Good, good; keep going like that.

_Eventually the_ Charger's _head emerges from the water, covered in mud and weeds._

**May (on radio):** It's the Creature from the Black Lagoon... and it's piloting a BattleMech!

**Clarkson (on radio):** Very funny James, but just how are _you_ planning on getting across?

**Hammond (on radio):** That is a very good question.

_Cut to a shot of the_ Phoenix Hawk _backing up against the trees._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk: _May is running systems checks._

**May:** Vents open. Fuel mix optimal. Trajectory plotted. Everything seems to be ready, so I just need to...they should be...before they were...

_He looks around, utterly confused._

**May:** WHERE ARE THE _#BEEPING#_ JUMP JETS?

**Hammond (on radio):** Didn't you use them when you landed?

**May:** It was in AirMech mode then; the controls were set up differently.

**Clarkson (on radio):** Use the foot pedals.

**May:** Excuse me?

**Clarkson (on radio):** You need to press down on the foot pedals to activate the jump-jets.

**Hammond (on radio):** How the hell do _you_ know that?

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Charger_: Clarkson is reading a well-thumbed copy of_ BattleMech Piloting For Dummies_, several pages of which have been bookmarked._

**Clarkson:** I'm not a complete imbecile, I'll have you know.

_Cut to the_ Phoenix Hawk _crouching down slightly, before suddenly taking to the air in a cloud of flame, smoke and steam._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk: _May has been pushed down into the command couch by the force of the acceleration._

_Cut to a wide-shot of the _Phoenix Hawk _flying through the air somewhat majestically, only to miss the far river bank and land amid the trees with a loud crash._

**Hammond (on radio):** I am _definitely_ glad I didn't go for a 'Mech with jump-jets.

_Cut to a close up of the_ Phoenix Hawk: _it is laying face-down amid a mess of broken branches and crushed foliage._

**May (on radio):** Remind me to thank the producer for coming up with this little outing.

_The_ Phoenix Hawk _slowly rights itself; large dents can be seen in its armour, and it's once pristine paint job is covered in green and brown smears._

**Clarkson (VO):** Something told me James wouldn't be getting back his deposit.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk: _May is bleeding from a cut across his forehead._

**May:** Okay, that didn't go exactly as planned. Think I may have pushed down a little too hard.

_He flips several switches and examines the displays. One is showing only static._

**May:** Going to have to run a Physical Impulse Routine.

_He brings his fist down upon the top of the monitor, and it blinks to a readout of engine output._

**May:** Works every time.

_Cut to a wide shot of the river. The_ Phoenix Hawk _has joined the_ Charger, _while the_ Mercury _wades deeper into the water, eventually disappearing completely._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury: _the interior lights are low, lending it a cramped, almost claustrophobic feel. Hammond looks less than happy at this._

**Hammond:** Can't help but remember all those old WW2 movies I watches as a kid, where the submarine would be diving down to escape the enemy warship, only to be depth-charged. Kind of wish I hadn't seen quite so many of them.

**Clarkson (VO):** Fortunately for _Das Hamster_, James and I were all out of depth-charges. But that's not to say we didn't have _some_ fun at his expense...

_Suddenly, the unmistakeable sound of a sonar pulse echoes through the cockpit of the_ Mercury.

**Hammond:** WHAT THE _#BLEEP#_ WAS THAT?

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk: _May is holding up his phone to the microphone for his 'Mech's external speakers. He taps the screen, and it emits the same loud bleeping noise._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Charger; _Clarkson is doubled over in laughter._

**Hammond (on radio):** Guys, you sure we're alone here?

**May (on radio):** DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury.

**Hammond:** Oh, _very_ funny, guys, _very_ funny.

**Clarkson (on radio):** We thoughts so.

_Cut to a shot of the river; the_ Mercury _slowly emerges from out of the water, it's head covered in seaweed like plants._

**Hammond (on radio):** Can we get back to finding that road now?

_Cut to a series of shots showing the 'Mech's once again forcing their way through the forest. Even the massive and powerful_ Charger _is finding it hard going. Several trees prove too difficult to move, and are blasted to kindling by laser fire, but they are a lot less trigger happy then before. _

**Clarkson (VO):** While the road and river may have been eventful to say the least, they did get us to within a few miles of the highway. All that was left now was one last push through the trees, until open ground. It was hours of hard work, even in BattleMech's, proof if ever it was needed that Mother Nature can still stump you. But, after what felt like a life-time, the trees started to thin out.

_Cut to a shot of the 'Mech's making their way between trees, crushing saplings and shrubs under foot. The greenery become sparser, until it finally gives way to grass._

**Hammond (on radio):** Guys, I can see the road!

**Clarkson (on radio):** Good man. How far?

**Hammond (on radio):** Half a mile, maybe less.

**May (on radio):** About bloody time.

_The three 'Mech's come to a stop beside the multi-lane highway; it is a ribbon of tarmac stretching as far as the eye can see in either direction. In the very distance, a convoy of massive vehicles can be seen making their way through the heat-haze._

**Clarkson (on radio):** Are those Prime-Movers?

**May (on radio):** Only one way to find out.

_The_ Phoenix Hawk _steps forward and raises its left arm, thumb up._

_There is a moment of silence, then the_ Charger _and_ Mercury _adopt the same pose._

**Clarkson (VO):** Never let it be said that we are too proud to accept help when offered.

_Cut to a wide shot of the three 'Mech's being loaded onto the Prime-Movers and secured in place. With their cargo secure, the convoy pulls off, passing a road-sign proclaiming Galatean City: 200km._

_The camera pans around to show the lumbering_ UrbanMech _appearing out off the bush and stopping at the side of the road. It's upper torso rotates first right, then left._

_Cut to an over-shoulder shot, showing the_ UrbanMech _looking at the distant Prime-Movers and their cargo._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ UrbanMech; _'Mech-Stig sits at the controls, his expression unreadable behind his_ _visored helmet._

_Cut back to the road; the_ UrbanMech _turns and starts down the road after the Prime-Movers, shoulder-barging the road-sign as it goes._

**Clarkson (VO):** I couldn't help but wonder what regular Stig was getting up to...

_Cut to a rubble strew street; smoke hangs heavy in the air, while distant explosions indicate that the battle still rages elsewhere. A short, stocky creature with wrinkly grey skin and yellow body armour steps into view. It is holding a large, oddly-shaped pistol in one hand, it's face covered by what looks like a respirator, and it seems to be looking for something. _

_The roar of a powerful engine can be heard; a dented and scratched M12 LRV crash through the window of an abandoned shop, and using some rubble as a ramp, takes to the air. The alien can only look up in shock as the ATV passes cleanly overhead, crashing down onto the road. The Stig can be seen at the wheel, beside a tall figure in green and black armour, who is firing a shotgun from the passengers seat. A man in military fatigues is in the back of the vehicle, blasting away at everything in sight with a large, triple-barrelled machine gun._

**Marine:** _WHOO-HOO!_ I'M RIGHT HERE! I'M RIGHT HERE! YOU WANT SOME O' ME?! YEAH YOU DO! COME ON! COME ON! _AAAAAH!_

**Clarkson (VO):** Well, at least _he_ looks like he was having fun...

_Cut to the crew cabin of one of the Prime-Movers; Clarkson is sat at a table, reading a newspaper, Hammond is making a pot of tea, and May is relaxing on a bunk._

**May:** You know, we should do more challenges like this.

**Hammond:** What? Where we sit around and drink tea while someone else does all the driving?

**May:** Yep.

**Hammond:** I could get behind that.

**Clarkson:** Guys, you're forgetting something; this trip's only half over.

**Hammond & May:** So?

**Clarkson:** When have you ever known our producers to let us off _this_ easily?

_There's a moment of silence._

**May:** Permission to say 'Cock'?

_Cut to a shot of the Prime-Movers driving along a moonlit highway. In the distance an orange glow seems to hug the horizon, a road-sign proclaims "Galatean City Welcomes Free Spending Mercenaries". The convoy crests a ridge, and a futuristic metropolis comes into view; massive skyscrapers, some over a kilometre high, lord over a sea of light and noise. A number of truly massive buildings, built like sports stadiums but on a far grander scale, dominate the immediate area. Illuminated billboards proclaim nightly BattleMech duels, while others display advertisements for everything from Pharaoh Beer to used BattleMech yards. Turning off onto a large ring-road, the three Prime-Movers and their convoy raise little attention from the motorists who are use to seeing similar sights in and around the city._

**Clarkson (VO):** Galatea has the well deserved title of the _Mercenaries Star_; it is home to a number of large hiring halls, where everyone from the great house of the Successor States to the lowliest Periphery world can find guns for hire. It's a world of last-chance heroes and master-less Samaria, of those looking to make their name, and those looking to forget them, the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. It's a world of contrasts; it's possible to go from rubbing shoulders with the elite of the MechWarrior community, then cross the road and get stabbed in the back by a dispossessed pirate.

_Cut to a tracking shot showing a large residential estate set against the backdrop of the city centre._

**Clarkson (VO):** It's also home to some half a billion inhabitants, with no one knowns how large a transient population. This means there are a lot of restaurants to chose from...

_Cut to a bustling street; the presenters have changed into civilian clothing, and are arguing over where to eat._

**May:** Capellan?

**Hammond:** No!

**Clarkson:** There's a nice looking Marian place over there.

**May:** I really don't fancy pizza.

**Clarkson:** Kuritan?

**Hammond:** Bit spicy for my liking

**May:** Taurian?

**Hammond:** I don't know...

**Clarkson:** It's a steakhouse.

**Hammond:** Done!

**Clarkson (VO):** Once again the Hamster's notoriously picky palate meant that James and I couldn't experience anything truly indicative of the culture we were visiting. Fortunately, we would have our revenge.

_Cut to the interior of a restaurant. The presenters are sat around a table, beer glasses before them, as a waiter brings over a large platter of basted chicken._

**Clarkson:** Ah, the spicy chicken wings!

**May:** I can taste them already; this is going to be brilliant!

**Hammond:** Is chicken meant to be that shade of red?

**Clarkson:** Oh for Gods sake, Richard. We selected the medium strength, so will you just shut up and eat for once?

**Hammond:** Okay, if it'll shut the two of you up for once.

_He picks up one of the chicken wings, sauce dripping down his fingers. He gulps, then takes a large bight._

**Clarkson (VO):** Of cause, by 'medium', I meant by _Taurian_ standards. And those guys would think a Phall was for softies...

_Hammond looks shocked for a moment, then his eyes bulge out as his face turns bright red. He drops the chicken onto his plate, fanning his wide-open mouth with both hands while he looks around for something to quench the burning sensation with. Spying his beer, he quickly grabs it and downs the contents in one. Still feeling the effects of the spices, he grabs first Clarkson's then May's and quickly finishes them off too._

_All three pints downed, he sits back, breathing deeply as the other two happily tuck into their starter._

**May:** Not bad, not bad at all.

**Clarkson:** I've had hotter...

_Cut to later on: the three presenters are enjoying large, well-cooked steaks with the works._

**May:** What do you think the producers are up to?

**Clarkson:** Going over our Mech's with a fine-toothed comb, looking for anything they can use against us.

**Hammond:** I'm just glad that I've got hotel room with a shower.

**Clarkson:** We're _all_ glad you've got a hotel room with a shower.

_Hammond glares at him over his steak._

**May:** Come on chaps; we're in a nice restaurant, having a really nice meal with decent cutlery for the first time in days. Can't we just enjoy it?

**Clarkson:** He's right. Truce?

**Hammond:** Truce.

**May:** Good. Now all we have to worry about is what the tech's find wrong with our 'Mech's.

_Cut to the outskirts of_ _Galatean City, as an all too familiar yellow _UrbanMech_ lumbers into view._

_Cut to the studio: Clarkson and Hammond are standing in front of a blank Cool Wall._

**Clarkson:** Okay, so as we are in the 31st Century this week...

_Audience cheers loudly._

**Clarkson:** ...thank you. As we are in the 31st Century, we decided that the old Cool Wall, with it's collection of early 21st Century cars was a bit pointless.

**Hammond:** That's right. So, as an extra- special treat, we'd do a BattleMech Cool Wall!

_Audience cheers even louder._

**Clarkson:** And first up, we have... The _Charger_!

_Mixed reaction from the audience._

**Hammond:** Now, I'm going to have to agree with Jeremy on this one...

**Clarkson:** You are?

**Hammond:** While I still hold that it's an utter Clown Car, the simple fact that it is so big, and over-the-top and pointless, kind of makes it Cool. Not Sub-Zero, but I will allow it in the bottom half of the Cool section.

**Clarkson:** Deal.

_He places a picture of the _Charger _on the board._

**Hammond:** Now we have something a little smaller; the _Centurion_.

**Clarkson:** Uncool!

_Most of the audience seems to agree with him._

**Hammond:** What? Why is it Uncool?

**Clarkson:** Because it's boring. It's the kind of 'Mech a Volvo driver would pick.

_He walks up to a man in the audience._

**Clarkson:** You said it was Cool; are you really that mad?

**Audience Member:** It's a very good 'Mech that gets the job done.

**Clarkson:** So does my lawnmower, but I wouldn't say it was 'Cool'.

**Audience Member:** I have to disagree with you there; a lot of people underestimate the _Centurion_ to their peril.

**Clarkson:** Who are you, Justin Allard?

**Audience Member:** As a matter of fact, yes.

**Clarkson:** Seriously?

**Audience Member:** Yes.

**Clarkson:** 'Cool' it is then...

_He grabs the picture off of Hammond and places it on the board, a close to the Sub-Zero as he can without touching the line._

**Clarkson:** Now something we can all agree on; the _UrbanMech_!

**Hammond:** Oh my god, that is _so_ Uncool we're going to have to take the picture all the way back to Earth in the 21st Century.

**Clarkson:** Indeed. Now, I know there are some people out there, sad, strange little people, the sort of people who read The Guardian, who try and claim that the _UrbanMech_ has a purpose and shouldn't be mocked quite so much. But they are all barking mad, and don't know what they're talking about.

_He places a picture of the_ UrbanMech _on the very far left hand side of the board._

**Hammond:** Now, something the _UrbanMech_ wants to be, but fails at; the _Panther_.

**Clarkson:** Now I like the Panther; it's small, it's economical, it's fun to pilot, and it carries a PPC, which lest you shoot lightning at people.

**Hammond:** In many ways, it's a Hot Hatchback kind of 'Mech.

**Clarkson:** It is, and that is why I'm putting it here in the Sub-Zero section.

_He places the picture beside the_ Centurion.

**Clarkson:** Now, something you should all recognise; the _Orion_.

**Hammond:** Sub-Zero; the _Orion_ was the 'Mech of choice by Aleksandr Kerensky.

**Clarkson:** It looks stupid; it's a box with arms and legs.

**Hammond:** It is one of the definitive BattleMech's, and they have a well-deserved reputation for being reliable and easy to fix.

**Clarkson:** If it's so good, why didn't you buy one instead of that stupid little _Mercury_?

**Hammond:** Because I couldn't find a decent one within the price range.

**Clarkson:** All I'm hearing is that they're all crap.

_He slaps the picture on the top of the board in the middle of the Uncool section._

**Hammond:** Okay, let's go with probably the best-known 'Mech to set foot on the modern battlefield; the _Atlas_!

**Clarkson:** Sub-Zero, all the way.

**Hammond:** It's a bit over-the-top, isn't it?

**Clarkson:** It's a hundred-tons of utter, pants-wetting terror! It can lift smaller 'Mech's clean off the ground and use them the bludgeon opponents to death with.

_He looks at the audience._

**Clarkson:** Who here agrees with me?

_The audience nodded and murmur their agreement._

**Clarkson:** See? If you arrive on the battlefield in an _Atlas_, people know you're being serious.

_He takes the picture and places it on the board in the Sub-Zero section._

**Clarkson:** Now, something to make everybody cringe, in a different way; the _Whitworth_!

**Hammond:** Oh my god, that is hideous!

**Clarkson:** It's the ugliest thing I've seen outside of a Essex nightclub. It is_ truly_ hideous and _utterly_ pointless, so it goes down here with the _UrbanMech_.

_He places the picture on the wall below the_ UrbanMech.

**Hammond:** Time for one more, and it's a classic; the _Warhammer_.

**Clarkson:** Not sure if it'd say Sub-Zero, but definitely Cool. It's a design that has lasted the test of time, and unlike the _Porche 911_, it hasn't become a self-parody.

**Hammond:** Enough with the _911_ jokes! And, I'd say that, for all the reasons you've just stated, it deserves to be in the Sub-Zero section, simply because it is such a classic.

**Clarkson:** Okay, you let me have the _Charger_, so I'll give you this.

**Hammond:** Thank you.

_He places the picture on the board, to the left of the_ Atlas.

**Clarkson:** That's all the time we have for the Cool Wall, so let's get back to the challenge!

_Cut to a 'Mech Hanger at dawn. In many ways it resembles the outside of the Top Gear studios. The three presenters walk in from the side, all look a little hungover; May sporting a pair of dark glasses._

_Before they can enter the hanger itself, a man in an elaborate white coat hands them an envelope._

**Clarkson:** "Your 'Mech's are still undergoing a full inspection. So in the meantime, we thought you might want to test out some combat vehicles. Please give as a tougher a review as you can."

**Hammond:** So, what? We get to drive some tanks?

**May:** That's what it sounds like.

**Hammond:** Excellent.

_Cut to a shot of a cramped cockpit; Hammond is struggling to fasten a six-point restraint._

**Hammond (VO):** Some minor comfort issues aside, I felt confident that I had chosen wisely.

**Hammond:** Get in there, you _#BLEEP#_!

_Eventually he manages to secure himself, and sets about starting up the vehicle._

_Cut to a shot of a small hovercraft rising off of the ground in a cloud of dust._

**Hammond (VO):** I had chosen the S. L. Lewis Incorporated _Savannah Master_ scout.

_The hovercraft starts moving forward, slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed._

**Hammond (VO): **Capable of speeds in excess of 130mph, yet still carrying a medium laser, the _Savannah Master_ is used to seek out and harass light 'Mech's and infantry, relying on speed and manoeuvrability over armour.

The _hovercraft starts to fishtail spectacularly, spinning completely round before leaving the track and heading out across the grass at a seemingly random angle._

_Cut to the cockpit; Hammond is fighting the controls, and loosing, while being shaken about somewhat violently._

**Hammond:** How do you steer this thing?

_Cut back to outside; slowly, and with a few false starts, he manages to bring the craft under control._

**Hammond (VO): **True, the controls take some _getting_ use to, something you may not have time for in a combat situation, but it is still a very cheep and economical. It is emencly fun to drive, with controls that handle kind of like a motorcycles.

_The _Savannah Master_ attempts to take a corner, only to spin off yet again._

**May (VO):** While Hamster has, as ever, gone for speed, I have chosen conform and functionality.

_A far larger, wheeled vehicle rumbles past the stricken_ Savannah Master _under perfect control_.

_Cut to May, who is sat in a comfortable seat inside a spacious cockpit._

**May:** Ladies and Gentleman, the Wheeled APC. Not as fast as the space-hopper out there, but still capable of hitting 60mph on a good day. It also has room in the back for either a fully equipped infantry squad, or your average family weekly shop. It is also technically road-legal, so you can use it every day. How good is that?

_Cut to a wide shot showing the APC take the hammerhead a little wide, while the_ Savannah Master _once again is sent careering off the tack, backwards._

**Clarkson (VO):** Yet again, my fellow presenters are talking out of their trousers, while I was the sole voice of reason. And that is why, instead of picking a little weekend run-around, I had gone for something a little more practical for a time when the only constant is war.

_A massive tank rumbles into view._

**Clarkson (VO):** While it maybe almost painfully slow at 40mph, Defiance Industries' _Manticore_ Heavy Tank carries a veritable arsenal of weapons, certainly more than enough to take out Tweedledum and Tweedledumber out there.

_Cut to the interior of the tank; Clarkson is sat surrounded by controls and displays that wouldn't look out of place in an airliner. His helmet is decorated with the Peace Sign and the words 'Born To Kill'._

**Clarkson:** This is, in many ways, the 31st century answer to the _Sherman _or the T-34; simple to build, rugged, but highly effective.

_Cut to a tracking shot that shows the_ Manticore _rounding a corner, clipping the struggling_ Savannah Master _and sending it spinning once again out of control._

**Hammond (on radio):** Jeremy, you great ape!

**Clarkson (on radio):** Sorry, didn't see you there.

Cut to a high angle shot showing the three vehicals making their way around a carefully laid out course.

**May (on radio):** Is it me, or does this track remind you of something?

**Hammond (on radio):** Can't say it does.

**Clarkson (on radio):** That's because you've spent more time off of it then on.

**May (on radio):** Guys, I can see something up ahead...

_Cut to a close up of all three vehicles lines up at the side of the track; the_ Savannah Master _is back to front and covered in mud and grass stains._

_All three presenters dismount, and walk over to just in front of the camera, looking at something off side. They all have a shocked expression on their faces._

**Clarkson:** How the hell did _that_ get here?

_The camera slowly pans around to reveal the familiar shape of a_ _Kia Cee'd_

**May (off camera):** Well, I guess we'd better find someone to put in it then...

_Cut to the studio; Clarkson is sat on the central stage beside the Star In A Reasonably Priced Car chart._

**Clarkson:** Well, as you can imagine, it was kind of hard to find anyone to take part: no one had any books, films, TV shows or albums worth plugging to an audience from a thousand years in the past. So we tried calling up the Successor Lords, to see if they'd be interested, but after two hours of very, very detailed death threats from Romano Liao, we called it a day on that. So, instead, I just headed into town and grabbed the first two MechWarrior's I could find. Thankfully, I think it hit the jackpot. Ladies and Gentleman, Natasha Kerensky and The Bounty Hunter!

_The audience erupts into applauds as two figures make their way towards the stage. The first is a tall, slender woman in her late fortes to early fifties, dressed in a powder blue tank-top, tan jacket and leather pants. A few steps behind her is an imposing figure in a Star League vintage full-body MechWarrior combat suit, their face hidden behind a tinted visor._

_Clarkson stands to greet them, hesitating slightly before kissing Kerensky on the cheek and shaking the Bounty Hunter's hand._

**Clarkson:** Welcome, welcome to the show! We are truly lucky to have two of the biggest names in the MechWarrior community here today...

_A laser bolt, fired from somewhere in the audience, burns a hole through the top of the_ _Star In A Reasonably Priced Car chart._

**Clarkson:** ...not forgetting, of cause, reigning Solaris VII champion Justin Allard, who we met earlier. Charming and level headed chap; not the type to take anything personally.

_The audience laughs._

**Kerensky:** I am only here to prove, once and for all, who is the better pilot.

**Bounty Hunter:** I'm only here to get a better look at Natasha in those _wonderfully_ tight leather pants.

_Kerensky's hand drops to her holster, but it's empty._

**Clarkson:** Yes, probably best that we had you both disarm before coming on-set.

**Kerensky:** I have killed men for less!

**Clarkson:** It's wasn't me; it was our health-and-safety inceptor who insisted upon it.

**Kerensky:** I shall _deal_ with him later.

**Bounty Hunter:** I have to hand it to you, 'Tash; you've really improved your social skills.

**Kerensky:** SILENCE! I _kill_ you!

_Clarkson coughs loudly, somewhat obviously disguising the fact that he's laughing._

**Clarkson:** Anyway, no point asking about your car histories, because you're both _famously_ tight-lipped about your past, how about we get on with the times. How do you think you've done?

**Kerensky:** It goes without saying that I have surpassed all of these so-called "celebrities" you have there.

_She gestures towards the board dismissively._

**Bounty Hunter:** I'd be happy with anything under 1:44.2; Cranston Snord made me sit through _Eyes Wide Shut_ and _Top Gun 2_ on a bet once, and I have never forgotten just how _bad_ they were.

**Clarkson:** No argument from me there on the first one, but I'm still waiting for the chance to _avoid_ seeing _Top Gun 2_ when it comes out. Anyway, let's see how Natasha did, shall we?

_Cut to the recreated Test Track; the Kia Cee'd sits on the line, engine revving._

_Cut to inside the car; Kerensky is sat behind the wheel, a look of total concentration on her face._

_Cut back to the outside: a man in a long white robe drops the green flag, and the car takes off in a cloud of smoke._

**Clarkson (VO):** Little wheel-spin there off the line, but I've seen worse.

_Cut to a tracking shot on the first corner; the Kia seems to be travailing too fast to take the corner without spinning off, but at the last possible moment, it snaps round to kiss the apex._

**Clarkson (VO):** Very well done that; I'm sure The Stig would have been impressed if he'd been here.

_Cut to what at first seems to be a salon in the wild west, only with a neon sign behind the bar and a large TV in the corner. The Stig is stood at the bar, a long brown coat over his coveralls. The rather drunk man behind him eyes him carefully, before lifting a pool cue with the obvious intent of using it as a club._

_Cut to the outside of the salon; the drunk is thrown bodily out through the doors, landing in a bruised head outside. He is followed shortly there after by the two broken ends of the pool cue._

_Cut back to the test track; the Kia powers into Chicago, the back end kicking out slightly slightly, but still under control._

**Clarkson (VO):** I have to say, for someone who spends most of their time piloting a 'Mech, you are a _very_ good driver.

_The Kia turns into the Hammerhead, actually power-sliding part of the way round._

**Clarkson (VO):** Never seen the See Apostrophe Dee do _that_ before.

_Cut to the interior of the car; Kerensky's expression is unchanged._

**Clarkson (VO):** The very embodiment of concentration there.

_Cut back to a wide shot of the Kia as it enters the Follow-Through, the tyre-wall shaking visibly._

**Clarkson (VO):** Flat out there; not even a hint of lifting off as you come to the second-to-last corner.

_Cut to a tracking shot of the Kia cornering tightly._

**Clarkson (VO):** Only Gambon left now; can you keep it together...

_Skidding slightly, the Kia takes the last corner and crosses the line._

**Clarkson (VO):** Yes you can!

_Cut to the studio; the audience is applauding loudly._

**Clarkson:** Now, that was a very impressive lap; few people have ever handled such a... _reasonably priced_ car so well.

**Kerensky:** You expected any less?

**Clarkson:** Okay, point taken, point taken. But, before we find out just how well you did, lets see how our other guest did.

**Bounty Hunter:** Oh, this should be interesting.

**Clarkson:** That's one way of putting your lap...

_Cut to the test track; the Bounty Hunter is trying, unsuccessfully, to climb into the Cee'd._

**Clarkson (VO):** Yes, you had a little trouble there...

_The Bounty Hunter rips the drivers seat out of the Cee'd and dumps it on the grass beside the track before climbing in._

**Clarkson (VO):** Oddly enough, that's _exactly_ how Lawrence Dallaglio handled the same problem with our old Lacetti.

_The Cee'd takes off down the track in a cloud of smoke, the engine howling as it is pushed to the very limit._

_Cut to a wide shot of the first corner. The Cee'd executes a perfect Scandinavian flick, the two left hand wheels actually leaving the ground for a moment._

_Cut to the studio; the Bounty hunter is sat with their arms folded across their chest, feet up on the table. They nod slowly._

_Cut back to the test track; the Cee'd kisses the apex on Chicago, over-steering slightly, but recovering quickly._

**Clarkson (VO):** Very impressive so far.

_Cut to the Hammerhead; the Cee'd power-slides round the hairpin, smoke billowing from all four wheels._

**Clarkson (VO):** Little bit of a tank-slapper there at the end.

_Cut to a tracking shot of the Cee'd taking the follow-through so fast one of the tyres actually falls off of the wall._

**Clarkson (VO):** Never seen _that_ happen before.

_The Cee's moves into the second-to-last corner, smoke starting to escape from under the bonnet._

**Clarkson (VO):** Yes, it was at this point that you threw a rod...

_The Cee'd powers into Gambon, turning so tightly it spins around through 180-degrees that tips onto its side, skidding across the line moments before the engine catches fire._

_The driver-side door opens, and the Bounty Hunter emerges, seemingly unparsed by the experience._

_Cut back to the studio; the audience is dumbstruck. The Bounty Hunter jumps up, giving the peace sign with both hands._

**Bounty Hunter:** Who's the Daddy?

**Clarkson:** That was... well... words fail me.

**Kerensky:** _HA!_ You drive just as well as you pilot a BattleMech.

_Cut to the top of the scoreboard._

**Clarkson (off camera):** Okay, so Matt LeBlanc is at the top with a 1:42.1.

_Cut to Clarkson, looking somewhat nervous._

**Clarkson: **Natasha Kerensky, you did it in... 1:41.5!

_The audience goes wiled as Clarkson places the time at the top of the board. _

_Cut to Kerensky; she is leaning back in her chair, smiling smugly._

**Kerensky:** I expected nothing less.

**Bounty Hunter:** Not bad, I'll give you that...

**Kerensky:** SILENCE!

**Clarkson:** Okay, so that's one time. Now, Bounty Hunter, you did it in...

_He cringes_.

**Clarkson:** 1:41.4!

_The Bounty Hunter leaps up onto the couch, one fist thrust strait up while the other hand grabs their crotch provocatively._

**Bounty Hunter:** HAIL TO THE KING, BABY!

_Kerensky tackles him and they tumble off the stage into the audience, trading blows and insults._

_Cut back to Clarkson._

**Clarkson:** Think it's best if we go back to the challenge now!

_Cut back to outside the 'Mech hanger; the presenters stand by impatiently as the massive doors slow grind open, revealing a massive dark chamber beyond. Spotlights flick on illuminating the_ Charger, Mercury _and_ Phoenix Hawk s_tanding in maintenance bays. Mech-Stig's bright yellow _UrbanMech_ is in a forth bay at the end._

**May:** So _that's_ where he got to...

_A man dressed in a flowing hooded robe with gold and silver emblems embroidered around the hem hands them an envelope._

**Clarkson:** Okay, so it's minus five points for any extra minor faults they found, and ten for anything major?

**Hammond:** Yep.

**May:** Sounds about right.

_Clarkson opens the envelope._

**Clarkson:** James, they found five new minor faults and no new major faults. Which gives you a total of minus twenty-five.

_May punches the air._

**May:** You beauty!

**Clarkson:** Hamster, they found six new minor faults, and two new major faults. Which leaves you with minus fifty.

**Hammond:** That bloody ankle...

_Clarkson clears his throat._

**Clarkson:** With my _Charger_, they found _no_ new minor faults, and only _one_ new major fault, so I'm on minus ten.

**Hammond:** What?

_He grabs the card and double checks it._

**Hammond:** What the hell is a broken secondary pressure seal?

**Clarkson:** Remember when we got a little trigger happy in the jungle? Damaged one of my heat sinks. You, on the other hand, managed to face-plant your _Mercury GTI_, while Evil Kenevil here,

_He points at May._

**Clarkson:** ...went all "Rocket Man" across the river and miss-judged his landing ever-so-slightly.

**May:** That is true; I did cock that one up a bit.

**Clarkson:** I was the only one of us who treated his 'Mech with anything even approaching care and respect.

**Hammond:** They're bloody massive armoured war machines; they should be able to survive a few knocks and bumps!

_The hooded figure appears from off screen and hands them a new envelope. Clarkson opens it._

**Clarkson:** And that's exactly what we're about to test next, because the producers have rented the combat range next door, and we're going to have a little fight!

**May:** With live ammo?

**Hammond:** Don't be stupid, James; they wouldn't do that to us... would they?

_All three exchange worried looks._

_Cut to a large area of open ground; a number of bombed-out buildings huddle in one corner, trees another, while a small river snakes through the middle. Large rocks and patches of deep mud can be seen._

**Clarkson (VO):** This was the crucible where we would settle, once and for all, who had chosen the best 'Mech. Would it be the Good?

_Cut to a close up of the_ Phoenix Hawk_, which is standing amid the trees._

**Clarkson (VO):** The Bad?

_Cut to the_ Charger, _half hidden behind the skeletal remains of a house. _

**Clarkson (VO):** The Ugly?

_Cut the the_ Mercury, _knee deep in the river._

**Clarkson (VO):** Or the down-right Insane?

_Cut to the_ UrbanMech, _atop a low bolder._

_Cut to a computer-generated map of the combat range: each Mech is located in a different corner, equal distant from the others._

**Clarkson (VO):** As it happens, the producers weren't trying to kill us, this time, so our lasers would be cut down to a fraction of their normal power, while projectile weapons would be loaded with blanks. A computer would log any hits made and damage taken, and instruct our 'Mech's to react accordingly. It's the same training program used by most MechWarrior's across the Inner Sphere, as it's a little cheaper than blowing holes in otherwise irreplaceable machines.

_Cut to a serious of shots showing the cockpits of the 'Mech's; while the three presenters look apprehensive, 'Mech-Stig remains unreadable behind his visor. In the end, it settles on Hammond in the _Mercury.

**Hammond:** This is actually a lot closer than any of you watching this at home may think. The producers have drained the last of the fuel from James' jump-jets, giving me the edge in speed and manoeuvrability, while he still has an edge in fire-power. Jeremy, well, while I may make fun of it, that _Charger_ is a walking tank that'll take a lot to bring down. The only good thing is that we've been banned from making physical attacks, otherwise he could literally pound James and I to death with that things fists.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Phoenix Hawk.

**May:** Jeremy is just as fast as I am, but if I can keep out of his range, he's not going to be much of a problem. Hammond is going to be snipping at us both, but in order to do so he'll have to get within range of my Large Laser, and one hit from that could cripple him.

_Cut to the cockpit of the _Charger_: Clarkson is weaning a stars-and-stripes banana as a sweat-band, and has covered his face in camouflage cream._

**Clarkson:** To survive the war, you must _become_ the war...

_Cut to an open shot of the middle of the combat range._

**Hammond (VO):** Thankfully, the producers decided to start the festivities before Jeremy butchered a live donkey...

_A loud siren emits two short burst, then one long one, indicating that the trial has begun._

_Cut to the_ Charger; _it is trying to move through the bombed out village, but catches the side of one of the buildings with its over-sized shoulder, and the roof collapses, sending up a massive cloud of dust. It pauses for a moment, then takes half a step to the side and continues down the street as if nothing had happened._

_Cut to the_ Mercury; _it is crouched down behind a low ridge, observing the_ _cloud of dust from a distance. It slowly rises to its full hight and moves along the ridge in a bid to catch its opponent from behind._

_Cut to the_ Phoenix Hawk; _it is making its way across an area of open grassland, but pauses when it sees the cloud of dust on the horizon. Unlike the Mercury, it veers away from the disturbance, towards the other side of the combat range._

_Cut to the _UrbanMech; _it remains motionless on top of its boulder._

_Cut back to the _Charger: _it has found the skeletal remains of a building large and solid enough for it to hide inside, and has carefully backed into the gap._

_Cut to the _Mercury: _it enters the town from the other side, keeping to the side-streets as it seeks out its prey._

_Cut to he cockpit of the_ Mercury_: Hammond looks a little apprehensive._

**Hammond:** I have absolutely no idea who's out there or where; the producers have disabled our active sensors, and the passives on this particular _Mercury_ are, to be honest, pants. I am hoping it's 'Mech-Stig in the _UrbanMech_, because if I can get behind him, I should be able to get through his armour before he can turn that 120mm autocannon on me.

_Cut to the streets; the _Mercury_ is approaching a large, brick-built building._

_Cut to the cockpit of the _Charger.

**Clarkson:** Be vewy vewy quiet; I'm hunting wabbits!

_Cut to the street; the_ Mercury _has stopped a hundred metered from the building._

**Hammond (VO):** I could see something through the windows, I just couldn't tell what.

_The_ Mercury _raises its arms and fires at the wall with its Medium Lasers. One manages to find a window._

_The wall suddenly collapses as the_ Charger _steps back through it, bricks and roofing tiles cascading down its back._

**Hammond (on radio):** Oh, _#BLEEP#_!

_The_ Mercury _back peddles, feet slipping slightly on the rubble strewn street as the_ Charger _turns to face it. Beams of azure light flickers through the brick dust, lash out, striking the_ Mercury on its right arm and shoulder. It returns fire with twin jade lances as it backs into the shadow of an apartment building.

_Rather that try to follow the_ Mercury _and face it head-on, the_ Charger _lives up to its name by crashing through the building, bring the roof and part of the wall crashing down on the scout 'Mech. Carrying too much momentum, the_ Charger _then crashes into the_ Mercury, _sending it stumbling across the street and into the side of what had once been a factory._

**Hammond (on radio):** NO PHYSICAL ATTACKS, YOU GREAT OAF!

**Clarkson (on radio):** That was completely accidental, I assure you.

_The_ Mercury _struggles to regain its footing while the_ Charger _has become entangled in the wreckage of the now fully collapsed apartment building. As the two pilots battle to be the first to regain control, the_ Phoenix Hawk _appears at the far end of the street, it's pistol-like Large Laser held at the read._

_Cut to the gun-camera on the_ Phoenix Hawk; _the targeting radical moves from side-to-side between the 'Mech's, before finally settling on the_ Charger _and changing from red to green, indicating a solid lock._

**May (on radio):** No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!

_Cut to an over-shoulder shot of the_ Phoenix Hawk, _a wire-diagram of the_ Charger _in the bottom left corner, the_ Mercury _in the bottom right. A bright crimson bolt momentarily overwhelms even the filters on the cameras, and the left arm of the diagram of the_ Charger _turn yellow, indicating a direct hit. The machine-guns in the medium 'Mech's forearms then open up, spent shell casings as strikes start to register on the legs of the_ Mercury.

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Mercury_; several alarms are sounding at once._

**Hammond:** Oh god, he's hit the damaged ankle; that can't be good.

_Cut to an areal shot looking down. The_ Phoenix Hawk _and the still stranded_ Mercury _trade shots, the dust in the air making it increasingly hard to see anything, while rising heat levels mean that both 'Mech's are starting to get sluggish, even as wire diagrams shows where damage is starting to mount. Unseen by either, the_ Charger _is able to free itself from the rubble and steps out into the street. It seems to consider the_ Mercury _for a moment, then turns and starts running strait at the_ Phoenix Hawk.

**Clarkson (on radio):** _RAMMING SPEED!_

_Spotting the more imminent danger, the_ Phoenix Hawk _switches targets and unleashes a full Alpha Strike, pushing its heat levels into the red. The diagram of the_ Chargers _shows fresh damage, but there is simply not enough time to get through its thick armour to the vital components inside. Veering off at the last moment, the_ Charger _raises its right arm and clotheslines the_ Phoenix Hawk, both 'Mech's crashing into the remains of a corner shop.

**Hammond (VO):** It was at this point the rules went out of the window, health and safety be damned.

_The_ Charger _and the_ Phoenix Hawk _trade punches and laser blasts even as they struggle to rise, while the_ Mercury _tacks pot-shots at them from a relatively safe distance._

_Somehow, the_ Phoenix Hawk _manages to get the_ Charger _in a headlock._

**May (on radio):** SAY UNCLE!

**Clarkson (on radio):** NEVER!

_The_ Charger _slams its elbow back into the_ Phoenix Hawk_, denting the torso armour and loosening its grip enough to get free._

**Hammond (VO):** At this point, it could have gone either way, but fate intervened...

_Cut to a shot looking back over the_ Mercury's _shoulder; 'Mech-Stig's_ UrbanMech _lumbers into view, travailing at its maximum ground speed, despite the debris on the ground. It ignores the three targets in front of it, and seems more intent on making the next corner, but what looks like a bolt of lightening tears through its right leg just below the knee, and it tumbles to the ground. Its head splits open an the command couch rockets free at the last possible moment, sending 'Mech-Stig arching high over the brawl below._

**Hammond (on radio):** Um, guys, I think we've got a problem...

_The camera pans around somewhat hurriedly, zoom-focusing in and out until it settles on a pair of BattleMech's, one a close black_ Warhammer, _the other a bright-green_ Marauder_. _

**Clarkson (on radio):** Oh, _#BLEEP#_! I wondered where those two go to after security threw them out of the studio.

**May (on radio):** Does it even matter? They're here now, and it looks like their in a bad mood!

_The_ Warhammer _fires its PPC's at the_ Marauder, _but the shot goes wide, the twin bolts of man-made lightning flash-melting the surface of the road._

**Hammond (on radio):** I don't think they even know we're here...

**Clarkson (on radio):** Gentlemen, given that our weapons are locked into practice mode, and they are, without a doubt, two of the _deadliest_ MechWarriors of this or any other generation...

**Hammond (on radio):** Not forgetting Justin Allard?

**Clarkson (on radio):** NEVER forgetting Justin Allard, might I suggest that we relocate to somewhere a little less hazardous to our health?

**May (on radio):** If by that you mean "run away like scared little girls", then I'm for once I'm completely in agreement with you.

**Hammond (on radio):** Gentlemen... _RUN AWAY!_

_The_ Mercury t_urns to head towards the camera, but takes a flight of SRM's to the back. It staggers and falls into a nearby house, the roof collapsing the bury it. Meanwhile, the_ Charger _and the_ Phoenix Hawk _struggle to rise, but have become entangled with both each other and the debris that surrounds them. In a last-chance bid for freedom, the_ Phoenix Hawk _engages its jump-jets, and the two 'Mech's are sent skidding across the ground, away from the battle but totally out of control. They crash through the supports for an old advertisement for a freight company called Careless Spaceways, and a twenty-ton grand piano drops onto what use to be a Morris Marina dealership. The entire building explodes in a massive fireball._

_Somehow, the force of the blast separates them, and the_ Charge _is sent flying off at an angle, coming to rest in the local duck-pond, while the_ Phoenix Hawk _continues to streak down the middle of the road, arms and legs flailing uselessly. Eventually the fuel runs out, and it screeches to a halt, a black and broken mess._

_A large shadow looms over the wreckage, and the cockpit slowly turns to look strait up._

**May (on radio):** And where the hell have you been?

_Cut to a low angle shot looking up; a pristine_ Atlas _stands backlit by the blazing sun. It is painted white, except for a black stripe across the front of the head that resembles a massive visor._

_Cut to the cockpit of the_ Atlas; _The Stig is sat at the controls, cracking his knuckles before turning on the radio, filling the compartment with the sound of Pipes and Drums playing_ The Black Bear.

_Cut to a high angle view of the village. The_ Atlas _starts to advance of the still battling_ Warhammer _and_ Marauder, _the ground shaking with every step. It passes the_ Charger, _which is slumped up against an ornamental fountain, and the_ Mercury, _of which only the legs can be seen. Eventually it is spotted by the two combatants, who break off so they can take a step back and face it. The_ Atlas _raises is massive arms and points a finger at each 'Mech, then gives them a come hither gesture before adopting a fighting stance._

_There is a moment of near total silence, broken only by the sound of Hammond trying to dig his_ Mercury _out of the rubble, as the two MechWarriors try to determine what to make of the newcomer. The camera shifts between close-ups of all three Mech's, and the ominous sound of a bell tolling can be heard._

_Time starts to slow as, at the exact same instant, all three 'Mech's start to raise their arms, each targeting the other two. The image pauses on a over-shoulder shot from behind the Atlas, and the sound of weapons fire can be heard._

_Cut to the presenters looking out over a crater-pocked landscape, parts of which are still on fire._ _Clarkson has his right arm and left leg in plaster, Hammond is on crutches and has his head bandaged up to a near comical degree, ans may is sat in a wheelchair._

**Hammond:** It could have gone a _little_ better...

_The Stig walks past, his overalls slightly singes, holding a broken neural-helmet in one hand, the leg of a_ _Star League vintage full-body MechWarrior combat suit in the other._

**Clarkson:** He had fun.

**May:** Oh, I'm so chuffing glad someone did.

**Hammond:** Can we go home now?

Cut the 21st century studio; the presenters are still bandaged up, but looking slightly better. Behind them is an elaborate looking scoreboard.

**Clarkson:** Well, as you could see there, all three of our Reasonably Priced BattleMech's were reduced to so many spare parts by the end there.

**May:** I didn't half get into trouble with ComStar for that.

**Clarkson:** But that renders our board here completely useless.

**Hammond:** Yes, so our Top Gear Top Tip has to be this; if you do find yourself in a 31st Century Taurian stake-house, don't order the_ Spicy Chicken Wings_ as a starter!

**May:** No, it has to be; if you do want to buy a second-hand BattleMech for less then 10-million C-Bills... don't.

**Clarkson:** And on that bombshell, it's time to say goodnight. Goodnight!

**The End!**


End file.
